


Keep Me Up Where the Light Is

by WelpThisIsHappening



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening
Summary: There wasn't a name for it. What could you name something that wasn't quite there, but wouldn't go away? It just was. It existed and he ignored it. Or, at least, he tried to.Killian still has magic after his return from the Underworld and it's leaving cracks in everything.





	

He’d always been dimly aware of it. 

Ever since the start. Or the restart. They never really decided what to call it. 

There never seemed to be enough time. 

He’d landed in that graveyard, muttered  _ Swan _ and felt her crash against him and the only thing he’d been even relatively certain of was that this was real and she was real and they were there – together. 

He’d ignored the feeling completely. 

He didn’t have the words to describe it anyway. There was no point in lingering on it. It would probably go away. 

It didn’t. 

And then, of course, there’d been other realms and people splitting their personalities in half and death and untold stories and his past creeping up whenever he felt like he’d finally taken two steps forward. 

It didn’t matter. 

The feeling was always there and Killian couldn’t even begin to consider the possibility of what it was. 

Magic. Still, even after The Darkness was gone, the feel of it settling in the tips of his fingers and the back of his mind and it was never completely  _ off _ , as if a feeling could ever be shut off entirely. 

Emma thought it was her. 

Only a few days after he’d moved into that enormous house – one chest of possessions to his name and his shoes left next to the door like he belonged there – and she’d been just on the cusp of falling asleep, eyelids fluttering a few inches away from him. 

“Go to sleep, Swan,” he whispered, thumb tracing down the curve of her waist. “It’s late.” 

Her feet were tangled up with his and the shadows that fell along the floor of the room –  _ their _ _room_ – were playing tricks with his mind, long stretches of light that seemed to move through the space and maybe him and he could feel  _ it _ in every single inch of him. 

“That’s a work in progress,” Emma said, burrowing against the pillow and scrunching her nose when his thumb hit skin.  “It’s harder when you won’t stay still.”  
  
It happened almost instantaneously – a shockwave that seemed to reverberate all the way down his arm as soon as he touched her. Killian felt his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widened and Emma’s mouth fell open, nearly knocking the pillow off the bed when she pushed her head up to stare at him. 

“Did you feel that?” she asked sharply. The shadows seemed to get even longer, stretching out across the floor like they were reaching for him and trying to pull him...somewhere. 

He ignored it, tried to will himself not to start shaking in the middle of the bed –  _ their bed _ – and nodded slowly. 

Emma’s mouth was still hanging open. 

“I’ve never had that happen before,” she said and Killian could almost hear her trying to piece together  _ what it meant _ . He didn’t say anything, eyes cast down on the few inches of blanket in between them, trying to focus on the feel of her next to him and the thought of her with him and this house as  _ theirs _ in some kind of overwhelmingly permanent sort of way. 

He wasn’t going anywhere. 

He was fine. 

Just keep ignoring the feeling and it would go away. 

Eventually. 

Probably. 

It hadn’t yet. 

It might not ever. 

“Maybe I should ask Regina about that,” Emma continued. “That kind of stuff hasn’t happened in weeks. Months. I haven’t lost control since before…”

She cut herself off quickly, jaw almost audibly snapping closed as she pressed her teeth into her lower lip. 

Since before Camelot and The Darkness and that feeling that Killian couldn’t ever completely ignore – no matter how hard he tried. 

He pressed his palm flat against the bed, fingers splayed wide and it hardly even surprised him when Emma noticed, gaze tracing down when it felt like he was trying to force his hand into the mattress. He’d stopped breathing at some point, lungs burning in protest, and his mouth felt dry and  _ that feeling _ was still sitting in the back of his head. 

“It’s fine, love,” he said softly and he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. 

Emma narrowed her eyes. He’d failed the test. “Just weird, right?” she asked. The forced lightness in the question made Killian’s stomach clench and he tried to take a deep breath. “I guess I’m just tired.”

He hummed in the back of his throat, barely even moving his head when he nodded. “Try and get some sleep, Swan.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, ok,” she mumbled, tugging on the blanket forcefully until he’d lost half of the sheet covering his leg. She shifted again, punching at the pillow underneath her head like that would somehow release some of the tension he could see as clear as day in between her shoulder blades. 

“Swan, I don’t think the pillow was trying to offend you.”  
  
Emma scoffed under her breath, lips quirking up and the buzzing in the back of Killian’s mind faded just a bit. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”   
  
“Come here.”   
  
Her smile wasn’t quite as cautious anymore, eyes meeting his and the buzzing was gone, but he could still feel  _ something _ racing through him, moving down his limbs and it wasn’t particularly unpleasant. It almost felt warm. 

What had they always said? Something Regina and The Crocodile used to tell Emma. 

Magic is emotion. 

You have to  _ feel _ it. 

Killian didn’t care about any of that. He only cared about her and that smile on her face and the bags underneath her eyes that never seemed to go away completely, a new crisis seemingly always on the horizon. 

Emma moved her head, somewhere in between both pillows and his shoulder and Killian wrapped his arm around her waist without even thinking about it, fingers finding their way underneath the thin fabric of the shirt she had on. 

It happened again. 

And they both felt it again. 

“Go to sleep, Swan,” Killian said again, lips brushing over the top of her hair. “We’re fine.”

There wasn’t time to think about it after that – Evil Queens to contend with and a prophecy hanging over their heads like some sort of weight threatening to drag them down and then Emma was gone and then she was back and Killian was frozen on Main Street watching some  _ child _ brandish a sword at her.

He could feel it then too, limbs fighting against the magic that was holding him in place – the rushing in his ears and the buzzing that he’d become so accustomed to, he barely even registered it anymore. 

It just was. 

And he still couldn’t bring himself to actually name it. 

It hadn’t worked. He couldn’t break through that child’s magic, couldn’t move, despite how desperately he tried, mind practically screaming to run and  _ protect _ and, well, he already knew what a sword felt like going through him once, why couldn’t he do it again?   
  
He’d do it again. 

If it meant Emma came back, he’d do anything. 

He couldn’t. 

It wasn’t enough. 

That seemed to be some sort of consistent theme. 

Emma had curled against him later that night again and he couldn’t stop his hand from moving if he tried, tracing over shirt and skin and his fingers shook when he touched her, the noise in his head nearly making him go cross-eyed. 

“It’s ok,” Emma promised, over and over, words muttered against him like that would get him to stay still. 

It didn’t. 

She fell asleep eventually, breathing evening out until he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his side. He never closed his eyes. 

It didn’t take long to decide after that – he was going to do something,  _ had _ to do something, had to feel like he had some control again or some choice and if there was a decision to be made then the decision was, always, going to be Emma. 

So he kept the ring he’d bought weeks ago in his pocket before he was certain it was actually going to burn a hole through the leather of his jacket and he went to the Cricket and he  _ talked _ and he  _ expressed _ and he decided. 

And he kept trying to ignore that feeling. 

It worked for all of a few minutes before that  _ emotion _ returned, threatening to boil over as soon as Emma came back and  _ of course _ they forgot the life jackets. He’d left them a list. It didn’t surprise him at all that both Emma and Henry had ignored it completely. 

“I can’t let you in there,” he said quickly, rushing over the words and trying not to actually flex the fingers on his right hand. 

Emma smiled and that almost felt like cheating – the way it lit up her entire face and her eyes got a bit brighter and he couldn’t think straight when she looked at him like that. Like, maybe, he wasn’t falling apart. 

Maybe this wasn't quite as bad as he thought it was. 

“Why not?” she asked. 

“Because I just really desperately need to kiss you,” Killian said and it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a complete lie either. 

It didn’t seem to matter. “Come on, you’re forgetting something,” Emma laughed, hands falling against his chest and the rush of  _ something _ moved through him so quickly it was difficult to actually stay upright. 

“What is that?”  
  
She tugged on his jacket, fingers gripping leather and there was a ring in his pocket still. “My superpower,” Emma continued, head tilted to one side The smile hadn’t completely disappeared from her face yet. “I know when you’re lying. What are you hiding from me?”  
  
Part of him wanted to shout  _ everything _ , right there in the middle of the backyard –  _ their backyard _ – to tell her everything he’d been far too terrified to actually name, memories of everything they’d been through lingering far longer than they should have and he wasn’t in control, no matter how much he wanted to pretend he was. 

He didn’t say any of that. She’d slept through the night and he wasn’t going to add something else to their list of never-ending challenges. 

He’d just ignore it. 

Killian took a deep breath and he wasn’t quite prepared for the words that did, eventually, come. 

“I paid the Cricket a visit because I needed to talk to him about about you,” he said. “ I thought you were gonna die, and that does something to a man. It changes the way he thinks about things, about us. And he reminded me how important it was to share my feelings. And I didn’t wanna let you in the shed without sharing them, so feelings shared.”

He clicked his tongue and if Emma noticed the way his grip tightened on her hip she didn’t say anything. He could  _ hear _ the blood moving in his veins, he was certain, could practically feel the seconds tick by and if magic was emotion, then he might be the most powerful person in every goddamn realm. 

“Well, I like feelings once in awhile,” Emma said, hands tracing across his shoulders. 

He kissed her or she kissed him and it didn’t matter because he could  _ feel _ it everywhere, could feel her everywhere. He didn’t tell her he loved her. He probably should have, probably should have said something or  _ done _ something, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, staying in her space with his head resting against hers, like that was, somehow, enough to center him and drown out whatever noise he could still hear. 

“Now, why was I her,?” Emma mumbled.”Life jackets, right.”

She was gone half a moment later, David making his escape from the shed in just enough time and neither Killian nor Emma noticed the slightly singed grass where his boots had been. 

It’s not as if he’d ever tried to do something like that before. 

David claimed he needed a pirate – not a magician. But there was a desperation in the prince’s voice he recognized almost immediately, a glint in his eyes that Killian knew not to argue with and, quicker than he was entirely ready for, he found himself back in the loft in front of a table with a chest full of  _ potions _ open in front of them. 

“It says turn counter-clockwise,” David said, glancing at him as if Killian would have the answers to whatever experiment they were staging. “Do you think they mean the beaker, or do we have to turn?”  
  
“It’s better to be safe?” 

He could feel it then, something practically bubbling down his arm and that had never happened before. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time, making him pull his eyebrows low and he was almost certain David didn't notice. 

Killian held his arm up, as if there was a beaker in his hand as well and he turned with David, vaguely aware of the flame flickering on the the table and whatever it was that rushed out of him when he moved. 

It kind of felt like breathing, like air moving out of his lungs and across the tiny space in the loft and they were only a few feet away from a still-sleeping Snow White. 

“Yeah, that seems right,” Killian said, nodding towards the beaker as David put it back towards the table. 

It  _ was _ right – he knew it. He cold feel it. He ignored that. 

It worked. 

Of course it worked. 

And something in the far corner of his mind, something he hadn’t ever allowed himself to dwell on for more than a few seconds, nearly shouted in triumph at that, desperate to prove itself again. 

It felt powerful. 

He was far too busy getting out of handcuffs and making sure David didn’t do something he’d regret to consider what happened that afternoon and by the time Killian was standing on the docks and asking the question that had been on the tip of his tongue all day, he was far too  _ happy _ to think about anything except pulling that ring out of his pocket and never putting it back there again. 

If he knew how to control  _ whatever _ this was, he’d probably try and snap his fingers and disappear in a cloud of smoke and he’d be home in moments, but he still wasn’t willing to actually give any of this a name and flashing from one point to another seemed like breaking some sort of unwritten rule. 

So he walked back through town, feet tracing a path down Main Street that he could probably take with his eyes closed. 

There was something to that, something big and important and  _ permanent _ and he’d never been as confident as he was in that moment. 

He was going to ask her. He wanted to ask her. 

And he could  _ feel  _ it again – the emotion and the light and it seemed to warm him from the inside out, like there was a fire in the pit of his stomach. 

The world, however, had other plans and the puppet appeared on his doorstep, revving the engine of that monstrosity he rode everywhere and Killian knew, as soon as the pages unfurled in his hands, he couldn’t ask anymore. 

It felt a bit like falling into ice water.

Once, when he was young, after his father was gone and before he and Liam had found some sort of purpose, they’d been serving on a ship and there’d been no room in the crew’s quarters for two boys who didn’t really matter and they’d taken up residence in the corner of the deck. It snowed. All night. 

And he’d never been colder in his life, teeth chattering and body shaking against his will and every movement felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done, muscles protesting at even the idea of shifting and fighting against the cold. 

This was worse. 

The fire in his stomach disappeared and his fingers nearly cramped, gripping the pages of the storybook so tightly he was threatening to rip them in half. 

“There you are,” Emma called, nearly bounding down the stairs and Killian stuffed the papers in his back pocket. As if that would, somehow, make them disappear as well. 

There was talk of popcorn and milk duds and that was all he wanted – the smile on her face and the happiness in her gaze and she’d grabbed his jacket again, dangerously close to the ring he couldn’t give her anymore.   
  
Killian barely heard any of it, pulse thudding in his ears and something else and there had to be some sort of reason for it. 

There wasn’t. It was just there – it had always been there. 

He tried to drink it away the next day, falling back on old habits and the rum didn’t quite light any metaphorical flames in the pit of his stomach, but it helped dull whatever feeling kept coursing through him. 

That was, of course, until the middle of the afternoon and the Cricket had left and Killian moved from the counter to the booth he and Emma claimed as their own when Sundays were slow and quiet and breakfast at Granny’s was some kind of step towards normal.

He tapped his fingers along the edge of one of the shot glasses in front of him and he heard it before he saw it, the crack making its way down the side, tracing along an uneven path until it almost split completely. 

Killian tried not to grip it too tightly, the edge of it pressing into his palm and threatening to cut across the skin. His whole arm tightened, wrist frozen and Granny didn’t say anything, hardly even moved her eyebrows, just pulled the glass out of his hand and nodded once. 

She gave him another shot after that. 

He needed to go home. 

He didn’t remember that walk, hardly even acknowledging the feel of the sidewalk under his feet or the steps leading up to their porch and the now-familiar creak of their front door barely registered when he swung it open. 

Killian was losing control – again. 

What had he told the Cricket?  _ Because, it appears, I am broken _ . Maybe that sentence was two-fold. 

He needed to tell Emma. 

He didn’t get a chance. 

She nearly knocked him over when she collided against him, lips finding his and hands landing on either side of his face, fingers pushing their way into his hair. His own hand fell to her back, tugging her against him and for half a moment he forgot all about it, the guilt and the drinking and the crack he’d left in that glass. 

He only thought about her. 

“I know I ruined the surprise,” Emma said softly, dropping the ring back into his hand. “But what do you say?”  
  
He bent down before he considered any of the reasons he shouldn’t, the look on her face making the feeling he refused to name rush through him, a wave of  _ something, _ and he’d never loved her more than he did then, had never wanted her more than he did then, had never felt more in control. 

“Emma Swan, will you marry me?”

She said yes and then said yes again and the sound of his name on her lips might be his undoing, but there was a ring on her finger and for half a moment Killian forgot. 

It didn’t last long. Nothing ever did and the shadows in their room seemed to find their way  _ into _ him somehow, snuffing out whatever power he maybe had and for as certain as he’d been before, Killian was as uncertain then. 

He’d made it worse. 

There was no plan. There was only the water and the sound of the waves and he didn’t expect to find Nemo on the docks, didn’t expect to  _ tell _ him anything more than he was happy to see him out of the hospital. 

The words, however, didn’t seem to agree. 

The words, it seemed, wanted to be said, maybe needed to be said, and, perhaps, that was just what he was or who he was. Killian Jones, pirate captain with a tinge of  _ something _ that he couldn’t reign in. 

He’d never been more terrified in his life. 

And Nemo was right. Of course he was. He needed to tell Emma. He’d know that as soon as the pages landed in his hand and realization washed over him and he walked away from the waves and the water as soon as Nemo turned his back. 

There was no one home. 

And the silence was nearly too much, overpowering and overwhelming and Killian swore he could  _ feel _ it. His hand shook when he walked through the kitchen, feet moving on their own and the power – if that what it was – settled in the very center of him, a plan coming together before he realized he’d even been searching for one. 

The back door didn’t creak when he opened it, not even bothering to shut it behind him. If this was right, and something in him  _ knew _ it was, then he’d be back inside before the cold air had completely crept into the house. 

The shed was a disaster, a mess of half-forgotten memories and things Killian and Emma tried not to think about and he’d only seen it out of the corner of his eye when he’d been trying to hide the shears out there, had tried to  _ save _ her – again. 

Or at least wanted to make sure she had the option. 

He was doing the opposite now. He knew it. He was taking away Emma’s options, her choice to see him for that he truly was and for what he had done and decide on, her own, if she could still look him in the eye. 

But he’d lost control and his hand wouldn’t stop shaking, fingers tapping out some sort of inconsistent rhythm against the fabric of his jeans. 

It was in the corner, tucked along the edge of a shelf in the back and Killian was almost stunned it hadn’t been broken, pushed in between a box and something that might have been some sort of power tool. 

He pulled the dreamcatcher down carefully, a bit desperate to make sure it didn’t snap in between his fingers the way the shot glass had. 

He licked his lips and tried to focus on anything except how  _ wrong _ this was, how out of control this desperate attempt at control was and, maybe, if he put this down, if he took a step back and found Emma and whatever crisis she was dealing with, they could figure this out together. 

The magic didn’t want that. 

Oh. There it was. A definition and an acknowledgement and the dreamcatcher started to glow almost immediately, as soon as the word landed in his mind. 

Killian swallowed, a mix of emotion and anxiety and  _ guilt _ lingering in the back of his throat. He pushed it away, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on the feeling and the magic and this could work. 

He knew it. 

The door was still open when he left the shed and he’d been wrong about the cold – it had worked into the house with ease, finding its way around the corners and into the living room and Killian stopped just in front of the empty fireplace, considering his options. 

He snapped his wrist and he had no idea how this  _ worked _ , just that it did, and there was a fire in front of him and his whole arm tingled with something that felt distinctly like power. 

It was just as terrifying as it had been in the loft. Only, this time, he was dictating it. 

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. 

Killian crouched in front of the fire and the warmth didn’t reach him quickly enough, seemingly moving around him instead of over him. He stared at the dreamcatcher and tried to remember the details of that night, everything he’d been so desperate to forget just a few hours before. 

It was easier than he expected. He tried not to consider all the reasons why. 

He didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear Emma’s footsteps on the floor, the rush of magic that moved out of him when he pressed his memories towards the dreamcatcher and the fire drowning out anything else. 

“That’s David’s father,” she said and the magic stopped moving as quickly as if it had been a string he’d cut. “It was you.”

Kilian spun on the spot, twisting and moving and she stared at him like she’d never seen him before. “Emma, let me explain.”

It felt a bit like a plea, a bit desperate and, he’d given up completely on any idea of control.

“No,” Emma argued. “It seems very clear to me.”  
  
“I swear to you, I wanted to tell you, I tried.” She backed up from him and it felt as if that broken glass had actually sliced his hand open. He kept talking. “And then you found that ring and I just couldn’t bear to ruin that happiness.”  
  
“How could you do this?”

“I keep asking myself that same question and all I can say is that I was a broken man for a very long time and I did horrendous things.”   
He still hadn’t used the word magic and Emma’s eyes kept darting across his face. Killian felt empty. 

“I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about this,” she shouted, nodding towards the dreamcatcher as she pulled it out of his hands. It wasn’t glowing anymore. It hadn’t worked. And the word  _ broken _ flashed in front of his eyes. “You were about to burn your own memories Why would you do that?”  
  
“Because I was ashamed, Emma. And scared.” The words felt like knives or broken shot glasses or magic that wasn’t quite enough, just lingering in the back of his mind and making him certain he could fix things he maybe didn’t even deserve to have. “Of losing you,” Killian continued. “And everything that matters to me.”

“You honestly think that would happen after everything we’ve been through?”

She was right. Of course. 

After all of it, the fights and the battles and the  _ death _ and he’d come back for her, had been sent back  _ because _ of her and how much he loved her and he’d never felt more alone in his entire life. He was cold. 

“You tell me how am I supposed to sit across from your mother and father at the table and look them in the eye after what I’ve done?”  
  
Emma’s voice cracked when she spoke again, the desperation Killian felt in every inch of him working his way back into her words. “I’m not saying it would be easy. You know them. You know they would forgive you. That’s who they are.”

He tried not to actually groan or collapse and he held his shoulders tightly, determined not to shatter the windows a few feet away from them. 

“I already destroyed my own family once, and that was hard enough,” Killian said, teetering somewhere on the edge of imploring. “But knowing that I destroyed yours too, I didn’t know how I could live with that.”  
  
She looked stunned. Killian couldn’t breathe. 

“You come to me, Hook! And you lean on me and you trust me! We have to stop hiding things from each other. The man I fell in love with would know that. You would know that we do things together.”

“Emma…”  
  
“That is what I agreed to marry, that is what I thought we were together.”

She seemed to move in slow motion, hand tugging up towards her finger and the magic flushed through him so quickly, Killian was certain the entire world had shifted as well. 

“Until you’re ready for that,” Emma whispered, “then we can talk.”

Killian took the ring out of her outstretched hand without a word, watching her move up the stairs and there wasn’t anything when she left. There wasn’t magic, there was no feeling, no emotion, just a sense of  _ empty _ he’d never experienced in his life. 

And if he’d been sent back for her, if he’d kept the magic even after Zeus, after he’d stopped being some sort of ghost in between life and death, then he’d fallen back to the very beginning in that moment, a child tucked into the corner of a deck with the snow falling on his face, just desperate to feel something again. 

Magic always comes with a price. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. I have never written anything in canon before. This is a product of my hour-long raging last night and I've never been so frustrated by a plot point in the history of the world. I am fueled by anger and angst at this point. As always, every click, comment and kudos is appreciated beyond words. Come flail with me on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


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